Over the Moon by House's Girl
by House's Girl
Summary: Jillian Walters has just received news that has sent her over moon! Will house be equally excited or will this be the beginning of the end for their relationship? Written for House/OC Friday Night One-shots. July prompt: Moon. More to come!
1. Chapter 1

**Over the Moon**

Even with socks on, the floor was icy cold as I skipped/ran into the bathroom so I could sacrifice the first pee of the morning to the little white stick god. I already knew that the result would be both the best and worst news I had ever received in my entire 39 years of life.

After peeing for what seemed like hours, while awkwardly holding the stick in the endless yellow stream, I placed the stick on the bathroom counter, closed the toilet lid, washed my hands, and then sat there waiting for my future to magically appear in the form of a blue plus or minus sign. I knew body pretty darn well and was 99.9% sure it was going to be a blue plus sign, but said a little silent prayer anyway that it was just stress or whacked-out hormones that had led me to this moment.

_Plus equals positive_, I thought as I turned the pregnancy kit box over and over in my hands. I counted the positives of my situation as I continued to await my sentence. I was _positive_ this would be the most confusing news I'd ever receive. I was _positive _the father-to-be didn't want to be a father. I was _positive_ that I was about to be screwed over by fate.

As I sat there lost in my own reverie and thankful that I decided to stay home from work and perform this little ritual in peace, away from Greg's prying eyes and mind, I realized that any second now, I would have to accept that I, Jillian Walters, was going to be somebody's mother and that Gregory House was going to be somebody's father. At that very moment, a chill ran down my spine. I was not quite convinced that it was from the cold.

***************

As I knew it would be, the test was positive. _Note to self: pray out loud next time. _I had passed off my tender breasts and inexplicable exhaustion to Greg as just symptoms of PMS and an insane work schedule, which he surprisingly bought. I thanked Greg's latest patient, whoever he or she was, for keeping him far too distracted to focus on me and my little white lie.

Terrified as I was, I couldn't get rid of the stupid little smiles that kept creeping across my lips, bravely battling the frown lines that kept popping up trying to beat them into submission. Every frown reminded me that there probably wasn't going to be lots of smiles from Greg when he heard this news.

I found myself sitting on the sofa with a glass of orange juice in my trembling hands without any recollection of having gone into the kitchen, getting a glass, opening the fridge, pouring the juice or returning to the living room.

What I found odd about my mixed feelings was that I didn't even think I could get pregnant again, especially at my age and especially after the complications from the ectopic pregnancy I had three years earlier. The physical and emotional scars from that pregnancy had given Gary, my rat-bastard of an ex-husband, the excuse he needed to finally leave me.

Like all couples, Gary and I started out extremely happy, madly in love and just knowing we would grow old together with a pack of kids and grandkids around us. We both knew that we wanted children and had agreed from the beginning of our marriage that we would begin trying right away.

Nine months into our wedding, instead of welcoming a screaming bundle of joy into the world, I was in an ER facing the fact that our nearly 3-month-old baby was dead.

We wept together and comforted one another as only a couple who had just lost a child could do. We both had faith that this was some kind of medical anomaly and that we would simply try again.

By miscarriage number two, and after endless tests to determine why I couldn't seem to carry a child to term, Gary had become more frustrated, angry and distant, while I became more convinced I was simply a failure as a woman and a wife.

We were 3 ½ years into our marriage and the bloom was definitely coming off our rose when I found out I was pregnant again. I prayed that this little one would stick around, but if it didn't I was threw. I couldn't put my heart and soul through the emotional wringer, yet again. When this last pregancy turned out to be ectopic, that was the last straw for Gary. Within a year we were divorced and a year after that, I heard that his 28 year old girlfriend had given him the son he always wanted and that I had failed, several times, to deliver. I cried for a week then decided I was through with men, babies and men who acted like babies. That is, until I met Gregory House.

***************

I met Greg at last year's Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital Children's Telethon, which was being broadcast live from the studios at local NBC Affiliate WMGM.

PPTH was hoping to raise at least a million dollars for equipment for their new pediatric oncology wing. I was assigned a seat next to a rather scruffy, though ruggedly handsome man with the most incredible blue eyes I'd seen in a while. Since, I was off men at the time, I was determined to ignore the little flutter I felt when he finally decided to drop his scowl and shake my outstretched hand.

"Greg House," he said, pulling me in with those blue tractor beams.

"Jillian Walters," I returned, trying hard not to get sucked in completely by those eyes.

We took our seats and were instructed to take the phone pledges in a friendly, courteous and professional manner. I could practically hear Greg rolling his eyes as the volunteer coordinator droned on. We were told to try not to pick our nose, stare directly into the camera or, in general, look like numbnuts while on-air. There was a part of me that felt like Greg saw these more as a challenge than instructions, so I decided at that moment to keep my eye on him.

I had always admired PPTH's work and was volunteering at the telethon because my company, Diagnostic Imaging of Princeton, thought it would be a good idea for us to send a team of volunteers to help out one of our top clients. I was there because I genuinely believed in the cause of helping kids.

I later found out that Greg was doing the telethon as punishment for telling an ER full of bus crash victims that there was a sudden outbreak of meningitis and everyone would be quarantined until further notice. The ensuing panic and paperwork did not endear Greg to his boss, Dr. Lisa Cuddy, or his colleagues, who ended up working around the clock to clear the ER.

A half hour into our 3-hour telethon shift, Greg decided to make things interesting.

"I bet I can get more pledges and raise more money than you can by the end of our shift," he whispered tauntingly to me between incoming phone calls.

"And if you don't, what's in it for me?" I whispered back, as I pretended to write something down on my pledge sheet. I was secretly kicking myself that I was actually a little intrigued by his wager.

"Dinner with me," he answered, flashing his baby blues at me when I had finally looked up at him.

Luckily, the microphones are usually off until the emcees want to make small talk with the volunteers about who's calling, why they're pledging and how many dollars they're donating.

"How's that a win for me?" I asked skeptically, not missing that Dr. Cuddy, who was serving as one of the emcees, had turned her back to the camera and was giving Greg a death glare.

"Let's see," he said, ignoring Dr. Cuddy's eyeball assault. "The hospital wins because we raise a butt-load of money, which is why we're here. Your company wins because we'll actually have a butt-load of money to buy your overpriced imaging equipment. The poor little bald cancer kids win, well...just because they should. You win because you get to have dinner with a handsome, caring doctor." I was left speechless.

"And, oh," he smirked, "did I mention..._you win _because if I get Cuddy off my back, I will be a most delightful person on our date, which means you're guaranteed to get lucky."

The salacious eyebrow waggle, the crack about "getting lucky," made me roll my eyes so hard I thought they would disappear clean into the back of my head. It was then that I realized the cameras were on us, especially me. I saw myself on the in-studio monitor and nearly died of embarrassment. Greg, of course, smiled sweetly into the camera–_oh no, he did not just bat his eyelashes!–_and started scribbling furiously like he was the most dedicated doctor and fundraiser on the planet, and this was the most important work he's ever done in his life.

"Keep it up and I'm going to rip those eyelashes out one-by-one," I growled under my breath.

As I sat there looking like some bored volunteer, who didn't give a damn about the hospital or the sick and dying children, he looked like the caring, handsome doctor, out to save the world one pledge at a time."It is SO on," I muttered as the telethon went to commercial break. He just smirked at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Months into our relationship, I found out that during the telethon commercial breaks, Greg had called and basically threatened every med student, clinic nurse, resident, attending physician, referring physician, working girl from Princeton Escorts, ducklings–old and new, the janitor and Wilson, into calling on his line and pledging. He managed to get as little as $50 from the med students and as much as $10,000 from a few of the physicians.

At the end of our shift, Greg had single-handedly raised $100,000 to my $56,000. I had no choice but to honor the deal, even though at that point, I had all but convinced myself that I was "officially" through with men–all men–and especially this man. Of course, Greg charmed his way past my defenses and my panties by the end of that first date.

************

Finishing my juice, I looked back affectionately on that crazy first meeting. If I had known I'd be sitting here almost a year later trying to figure out how to tell him I was pregnant with his child, a child I wasn't sure either one of us was prepared for, would I have accepted the dinner date or would I have run screaming for the hills?

Considering who the baby's daddy was, I was now thoroughly convinced that I was carrying either the next Einstein or perhaps the spawn of Satan. I smiled, thinking the smart money should probably be on the latter. As much as I thought I didn't want a baby, in my heart and soul, I knew that this was probably my last chance and that I did want _this_ baby with _this_ man that I had come to love. I had no real reason to believe I would carry this one to term, but something told me that Greg House's child would not give up without a fight.

I continued to sit curled up on my sofa, arms wrapped around my knees, entertaining scenarios as to how I was going to break the news about the pregnancy to Greg. I knew that some cutesy reveal was out of the question because Greg House did not do cute–period. I decided the straightforward, get to the point, lay the cards on the table approach would work infinitely better with him, especially knowing his doubts about his ability to be a good father.

************

Occasionally, throughout our relationship, Greg has shared bits and pieces with me about his less-than-ideal childhood, but it was actually the night of my first Monster Truck show over in Trenton one Saturday evening in September, when he decided to come clean and tell me more than he'd ever told me before about life with his parents. I was honored because I'm still not sure how much of his early life Greg has shared with his best bud, James Wilson, or anyone else for that matter, over the years.

Call it fate, but I probably would not have been with Greg at the Monster Truck Show that night, if it wasn't for the fact that Jim was in Charlotte, North Carolina at an Oncology Conference. Greg knew it wasn't really my thing, but I was happy that I could be his "Monster Truck Buddy" that night.

The Auto Show traditionally draws untold numbers of males of all ages and women, who reluctantly accompany their husbands and sons to the loud, testosterone-filled event as a means of family bonding. Though how in the hell anyone bonded at these things was beyond me, since I couldn't hear myself think, let alone hold a conversation.

Our seats were pretty darn good, even though they weren't on the floor where we could possibly lose a limb or possibly our lives, much to Greg's dismay. We were sitting in the first row above the pit. Greg sat on the end, so he could stretch out his right leg. I was seated next to a 30-ish year old man with two young sons and his petite, nervous-looking wife. The boys looked about 11 and 8 and their faces were positively beaming from all the excitement. I also suspected that the huge cotton candies and larger than life sodas were also contributing factors.

From the tight smile plastered on the wife's face, I could tell she was happy to be doing just about anything with her husband, even Monster Trucks. She smiled lovingly at her boys, while her husband just barely seemed to tolerate her and the boys' presence, as he focused his attention on the colorful, roaring trucks that whizzed by.

I alternated between watching Greg enjoy the mayhem, the wife who seemed ready to crawl out of her skin, and the boys playfully shoving one another, as boys do. Greg's rare smile was anything but that night as he whooped along with the crowd as Gravedigger monsterized an equally massive piece of machinery known as Carzilla. It made me smile to see that my big boy was having just as much fun as the little boys.

I barely had time to react as I watched the large soda slip from the hands of the 8-year-old. As if in slow motion, the 32-ounce Coke went splashing down the front of the child's long-sleeved t-shirt and cargo pants, onto his brother's leg, barely missing his dad's feet.

"Son of a bitch!" the dad yelped as he tried to jump out of the way of the ever-widening brown puddle. In a flash, he grabbed the kid by the scruff of the neck and began to loudly berate him. Most people didn't hear the turmoil because of the arena noise, but we were close enough, unfortunately, to have a front-row seat for the abuse.

"Why can't you just behave like other kids!" the dad bellowed as he shook the child, who's big blue eyes began to fill with tears.

"B-but, it...it was E-Ethan's fault," the child pleaded, gasping to catch his breath. "He...he bumped my elbow when he was ch-cheering for Gravedigger!" the little boy tried to defend himself through his sobs, as tears slowly spilled over his bright red cheeks.

"Don't you dare stand there and cry!" he roared as his wife tried to wipe up as much of the mess around her husband's feet as she could. "Be a man and own up to your own mistakes! You're 8 years old! You're not a baby!"

My stomach did a back flip. The look of terror in the child's eyes as he faced his father's wrath was mirrored momentarily in Greg's normally bright blue ones. In an instant, the same blue eyes that I had fallen in love with, suddenly turned the color of the ocean during a thunderstorm as terror immediately turned to anger. My breath hitched as I was sure that at any second Greg was going to beat the obnoxious father senseless with his cane. Fortunately, there were just too many witnesses for him to do it without getting hauled off to jail in the process.

"Let's go," Greg growled, grabbing my hand tighter than I'm sure he realized and practically dragging me out of the arena. I looked back to see the wife finally attempting to clean up her youngest son and place an arm around his heaving shoulders.

Once in the car, the silence was punctuated by the words 'asshole' and 'prick' rising above the squeal of tires and the jingle of car keys in the ignition as we drove much too fast through the streets of Princeton.

Greg and I had been going out for about 6 months at that time and I knew that it was best to leave him to sort out the jumble of mixed emotions that were bubbling to the surface and would soon spill over onto anyone in the vicinity–which at that moment was going to be me.

I also knew he would talk to me when, and if, he was ready. Until then, I knew to give him a wide berth. I still believe that that's what makes our relationship work. He knows that I'm not out to analyze or fix him. He's a brilliant man. I trust him to fix himself, if he thinks that's what he needs.

I went into the bedroom and pulled out a pair of black lounge pants and one of his t-shirts, so I could at least be comfortable for whatever was coming my way. Grabbing the _Vanity Fair_ I had left on the night stand on my side of the bed, I propped myself against the headboard and offered up a little prayer to whatever God might be listening that Greg would be able to find a way to somehow handle what happened tonight, without it sending him into a deep depression for days.

Shortly after the final chords of the last melancholy song died in the living room, the strong smell of Bourbon tickled my nose as Greg walked into the bedroom holding on tightly to his thigh, as he looked for his striped pajama pants and plain gray t-shirt to change into. I tried not to focus on the sprinkling of mixed brown and gray chest hair and his muscular arms as he pulled the shirt over his head, since now was definitely not the time for lustful thoughts.

Placing the unread magazine back on the night stand, I waited for him to slowly climb in bed. The way he looked at everything in the room, but me, as he used both hands to swing his right leg onto the bed, let me know that he wanted to talk. I reached out an arm and motioned for him to snuggle up next to me.

He approached me like a timid deer deciding whether to eat from a stranger's hand. Deciding it was safe, he snuggled alongside and gently lay his head on my chest, finally looking up at me with big blue eyes that were fathoms deep with emotional pain.

"I know we talked about this already," he started slowly, stroking my arm, "but, you don't really want to have kids, do you?" he asked, glancing away and practically talking into my left breast.

From the very beginning, I promised myself that I would never lie to Gregory House. After all, the man was some kind of human lie detector. When I told him I had plans the first time he asked me out after our "telethon bet date," he proceeded to give me at least 3 reasons why he knew I was flat out lying.

I couldn't voice that I was just freaked out because I had slept with him on what was practically a "non-date"and felt like slut of the century. But, from that day forward, I figured it just wouldn't be worth the hassle of lying to him. Of course, I never said anything about lying to myself.

"Do you really think at almost 40 years old that I'm looking to have kids?" I said as I gently stroked the hair at the back of his neck. "Sweetheart, between my age and my screwed up plumbing, the odds of me getting pregnant are pretty much slim to none. We have nothing to worry about," I quietly reassured him and myself.

"It's just that my dad was a real asshole," he said barely above a whisper. "I'm just afraid I wouldn't make a very good father. Shitty role model, you know?"

"Oh, sweetheart, just because your dad didn't know how to be a good parent, doesn't mean you wouldn't make a good father. You're great with all the clinic kids. Even Jim's bald-headed cancer kids love you and you give them more grief than anybody," I teased, which brought a tiny smile to his lips.

Greg rolled over onto his back, crossed his arms beneath his head and stared out the window at the big full moon, as if Neil Armstrong himself had left the answers written in the lunar dust just for him. I turned on my side, watching his strong, masculine features and feeling such love for this incredibly complex man that I was so lucky to have in my life.

With a deep sigh, Greg turned to face me and quietly launched into stories about his childhood.

Turning and seeing a somewhat pained expression on my face, he immediately added, "Don't get me wrong, the time I spent in Egypt and Japan when I was a teenager was cool. And the summers I spent at my Aunt Sarah and Uncle Carl's cabin in the Poconos were also great, but none of that makes up for having a father with an insane moral compass and a rigid view of what it means to be a man."

Greg's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he finished emptying out his tortured soul. I wrapped him in my arms like the broken child he was and just held him for the longest time. Greg's eyes slowly began to close as the clock on the night stand showed 4 a.m. The stress of the night's events had finally taken its toll.

"Goodnight, sweet boy," I whispered, as I kissed him lightly on the lips.

"Night, Jilly...love you," he yawned, entwining himself around me and returning the kiss. Even in his sleepy state he managed to slip me some tongue before drifting off to what I hoped would be a few hours of peaceful sleep.

************

I thought back to the night of the Monster Trucks show and Greg's midnight confession, as I bumped around my kitchen in a daze, pulling out roast, potatoes, carrots and other ingredients I would need to make his favorite meal. I couldn't help but feel like I was setting a roast-flavored trap.

_What in the hell am I doing_, I thought as I stood there chopping potatoes into halves then quarters. _This man no more wants to be a father than I want a hole in my head, but regardless, I have to tell him. I'll just have to take the risk and bet that the Greg I've come to know and love will find a way to handle this news. _

Without realizing it, I had put the knife down and was simply standing there at the counter with my hand on my stomach, already protecting the little life growing inside me from whatever Greg was going to throw our way.

"Don't worry, little one," I whispered. "Whether your daddy knows it or not, he's going to be a wonderful father. So, just ignore all the yelling and grumbling you're going to hear tonight. His bark is _so_ much worse than his bite."

*************

The ringing phone startled me back to reality. The caller ID read: House, Gregory, PPTH, 609-555-1959.

"Hi honey," I said as calmly as my jangled nerves would allow. "Yeah, I'm feeling much better. Good enough to actually cook dinner for you today. Would you mind stopping at La Marquis and picking up dessert? Something chocolate?"

"What's the occasion?" he asked suspiciously. "Or, better yet, what's on the menu? Hopefully you?" he asked with a sexy growl.

"So, you plan on having _two_ desserts tonight?" I teased.

"You know I have a really...big...appetite," he said slowly in a voice that made my groin flutter in anticipation.

"Well, I'll see you and your really...big...appetite around seven," I said in my best Marilyn Monroe imitation.

I heard his ducklings suddenly rattling off test results and knew that was the end of our silly, little pseudo-phone sex. "Seven it is," he said quickly and hung up with his usual non-goodbye.

I continued with my preparations for the roast, rosemary potatoes and carrot souffle I was making for dinner. Talking to Greg that little while, immediately calmed the Buick-sized butterflies that had taken up residence in my stomach. Just the sound of his voice made me feel safe, loved and protected. Though I knew better, I was sure that even the baby could feel the calming effects of its father's voice. At that moment, I decided that I was now truly ready to face my future...our future. I was suddenly feeling over the moon.

**tbc **


	2. Chapter 2

Over the Moon

Greg entered the apartment shortly before 7 p.m. bearing dessert from my favorite bakery, La Marquis, on Nassau Street. I looked up from the stove where I was putting the finishing touches on our dinner and gave him a big cheesy smile. He placed the bag containing the small white cake box on the counter and then planted a kiss on the back of my neck as he reached around me for a piece of the roast I had just finished slicing.

"Ouch...cripple abuse," he whined as I smacked the back of his hand.

"You big baby!" I immediately cringed inwardly at my choice of words.

I turned in his arms and gave him a quick kiss while trying to shove him in the direction of the bedroom.

"Why don't you go take a quick shower and I'll finish setting the table, so we can have dinner in a few?"

"Are you sure there's no appetizer on tonight's menu?" he whispered in my ear before kissing that spot right below my earlobe that he knew made me lose all common sense.

My brain was beginning to float in a cloud of lust, making it hard for me to maintain the control I would need to deliver my news to him. I thought telling him over a dessert of rich chocolate cake and French Vanilla ice cream would help the news go down a little better. Spoonful of sugar and all that rubbish.

"Unh-uh," I managed to squeak out as I untangled myself from his long arms. "And besides, you stink," I said wrinkling my nose and physically turning him around to once again send him to the showers.

He raised his right arm and took a deep whiff. "OK, so I'm a little ripe after dealing with my patient practically non-stop for a day and a half. I thought you liked my manly scent?" he laughed trying to stick my nose even deeper under his arm.

"Your scent, sweetheart, not your funk. Now git!" I laughed as I grabbed his ass with both hands and pushed again.

"Ok, ok, I'm going. Must want me to smell like Wilson or something," he mumbled as he went into the bedroom. A few minutes later I heard the shower going and knew that the evening I had planned was back on track.

I set the table with our nice plates, glassware and silverware, then lit a few candles and placed them around the room, admiring the flickering glow. I had lit the fireplace earlier, so the room already had a warm toasty glow and feel to it.

The shower was still going as I went back into the kitchen and transferred the rest of the food to the nice serving platters and carried it back into the dining area. I took the cake from La Marquis out of its little white box and placed it on a glass cake plate, licking the excess chocolate icing from my fingers.

Greg walked back into the room at that moment, towel drying his hair and wearing only clean jeans and a vintage black t-shirt. Damn he was sexy.

"Let me do that," he said as he brought my hand slowly to his mouth and sucked the last of the chocolate frosting from my index finger.

Under normal circumstances, I loved being on the receiving end of Greg's extreme horniness following his successful solving of a case. Lord knows I was tempted to jump him right there in the kitchen, dinner be damned, but it had taken me all day to build up my courage, so I had to remain a woman on a mission. I knew if we made love before I gave him this news, he would just accuse me of pulling all sorts of dirty tricks. Trust, as I had long ago found out, was not one of Greg's strong suits.

"You do that SO well," I sighed, retrieving my index finger from his mouth and my right boob from his left hand. Grabbing the cake plate with both hands, I made my escape into the living room where I placed the cake on the coffee table for after dinner. When I turned around, Greg had already taken his place at the table, ready to dig in.

I could tell he was a little disappointed that I wasn't fully responding to his little before dinner distractions, but I had to stick to my agenda or I would certainly lose my nerve.

"One last thing to get and then we can eat," I said over my shoulder as I walked back into the kitchen.

It was enough that I already felt terrible for using this dinner as bait, I didn't want to feel like I was adding sex to the tender trap, too. But, I also couldn't see just blurting this out over coffee in the morning or over the phone between his diagnoses. I could just see it now:

Greg: "Thirteen, stop mooning over Foreman and go run the blood tests."

13: "I don't moon."

Greg: "Sorry to hear that." (Simultaneous eye rolls from Taub and Foreman.)

_ Ring, ring._

Jillian: "Greg, it's me."

Greg: "Which me? I know a lot of me's."

Jillian: "The me that's pregnant with your child. Congratulations, you're going to be a daddy!"

_ Thud._

Foreman,Taub & 13: "House?! House?!"

Of course, this was only in my head, since I had made many a romantic dinner for Greg since we'd been together. There was no reason for him to feel like this evening was any different. He would just assume I was a little more tired from cooking all afternoon and that I might need just a little more motivation. And, if there's one thing Greg was good at, it was "motivating" me.

Greg's voice cut through my fog. "Jillian, could you bring me a beer when you come back in–hopefully sometime before my next birthday?"

"Sorry, babe," I said, re-entering the room and placing a beer in front of him and a glass of water in front of my place. I did not fail to miss Greg's inquisitive blue eyes taking in my drink choice.

"Thirsty," I said like the perfect little liar I was becoming. He looked at me, saying nothing and began digging into the roast and potatoes. I silently exhaled, not even realizing I had been holding my breath. I was in the clear for the moment–or so I thought.

"This is delicious," he said around a mouthful of roast.

"Greg! Swallow first, then talk," I reprimanded.

"Yes, _mom_," he said in a measured voice.

_Mom_, I thought to myself. _Interesting word choice, my friend. Touche._

I guess I had zoned out again because the next thing I knew he was snapping his fingers in front of my face.

"Jillian! What the hell is going on?" he asked as he took a long pull of his beer and set it down carefully on the table. "You haven't been yourself all evening. Is there something you want to tell me?" He took a deep breath and continued, "Like why are you plying me with roast and chocolate cake on a Wednesday night? Why are you having water instead of your usual Sam Adams or glass of wine? Or, why are your boobs suddenly a half cup-size bigger?"

I dared to look up into his intense blue stare, but only for a moment, afraid he'd burn a hole clean through to my frenzied brain. _Ladies and Gentlemen: Gregory House–The Amazing Human Lie Dectector._

I had no choice but to answer him. "Greg, I'm pregnant."

*******************

I feared for the life of our wood dining table as I watched him grip the edge tightly, as he rose from the table and began pacing furiously, scraping his hand across his stubble. He said nothing for a few moments and then turned to face me, blue eyes on fire.

"Jillian, how many times have we discussed this?! What the f*ck are you thinking?! Oh...on second thought, you apparently aren't thinking!" He continued pacing for a few more steps and then came back to stand directly in front of me, chest heaving, eyes blazing.

"Are you absolutely sure you're pregnant?!" I could see the look of betrayal in his eyes and hear the rising panic in his voice. I had never felt so horrible in my life. How could I do this to him?

"I took a pregnancy test this morning and it was positive," I said quietly.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, desperately hanging on to that .1% chance that the kit was somehow wrong.

"Get your coat...now! he growled. We're going to the hospital to do a real pregnancy test. Then we'll figure out how to fix this."

"Greg, I am not going to the hospital at 8 o'clock at night because you're freaking out! Believe me, I know my body and I...am...pregnant," I said, suddenly getting angry. "And there is no 'fixing' this," I said, waving a hand back and forth between the two of us. "I'm pregnant and I'm having this baby with or without you!"

"So, you've just been lying to me for the past year?! Hoping to get pregnant when you damn well how I feel about having kids?!"

I was sure our ever-rising voices would bring the neighbors over any minute. In the midst of our arguing I suddenly realized we had become "those neighbors."

"You know, Greg, I didn't make this baby by myself! Let me refresh your memory! Remember the night of Foreman and 13's engagement party when you were too drunk to drive, but apparently not too drunk to screw?" He leveled his icy blue stare at me, daring me to continue.

"We were barely inside the door. You were in such an all fire hurry, you lifted my skirt, tore off my panties and took me right then and there? I could tell it was all coming back to him and he now looked at me like I was Bitch of the Century.

My temper was now in full flame. I knew it was wrong, but I continued mockingly in a deep, slurring male voice, "'Jilly Bean, if I don't f*ck you right here, right now I'm gonna die! That tight ass of yours has been driving me crazy all night!'" I said, throwing his very words from that night right back in his face.

He continued to look at me, waves of betrayal pouring out of him. I felt incredibly guilty, but we were both way past the point of no return.

"Even with my medical issues, Greg, you know I've been nothing but careful...always!" I spat.

"Well, apparently not careful enough!"

"Don't you _dare_ try to blame this on me!" I growled.

"Well don't try to make me father to a child I didn't ask for...or want!"

"You take that back!" I screamed, "Take it back!"

"Nope," he said with almost sadistic glee, knowing he had deeply hurt my feelings.

Without thinking, I reached for my plate of half-eaten food and hurled it in his direction. For a man with limited mobility, he managed to duck pretty damn quick, just in time for the plate to smash against the far wall, leaving a colorful kaleidoscope of food art in its wake.

"You're a goddamn crazy woman!" he shouted as he headed for the bedroom. I took two deep breaths, trying desperately to calm my racing heart. I waited to hear the bedroom door slam, but he was back in just a few minutes, dressed in his peacoat, scarf and newsboy cap. Grabbing his car keys off the little side table, he flung the front door open and growled over his shoulder, "Don't wait up!" The slamming door rattled the windows, the guitars and the artwork on the walls.

I put my hand on my tummy and whispered to the baby that I was pretty sure we had all but guaranteed would be in therapy by the time he or she was in kindergarten, "Well, little one, that went pretty much as we expected." I then balled myself up on the sofa and cried until I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion."

**tbc**


	3. Chapter 3

1**Over the Moon **

It was a small, dull cramp that awoke me from my sleep. I rubbed my eyes hoping I had dreamed the entire ugly argument with Greg, but when I looked at the food art still stuck to the wall and the broken plate on the floor, I knew it had been all too real.

"Please, not again," I prayed, as I placed my hand on my lower abdomen, trying to protect the little bud within. I walked over to the dining table and drank the lukewarm glass of water that remained untouched from our disastrous dinner. After about 5 minutes, my nerves had calmed and I felt a little better. I walked around the apartment blowing out the few remaining lit candles as I headed to the bathroom to wash my face and change out of my jeans and sweater.

The clock on the night stand read:1:11 in big, glowing red numbers. _Where could he be? _I thought to myself. I knew our argument had been pretty awful and he would need time–lots of time–to wrap his head around all that had happened. Afterall, he was now faced with deciding whether he was willing to be a part of this child's life or not. Regardless, I thought he would have been home by now and even though I was still pissed, I was starting to worry about the big jerk.

I dialed his cell to ask him to come home, so we could try to work through this like the two adults we supposedly were. The call went immediately to voice mail, so I just hung up without leaving a message. This was too important for voice mail.

I stared into the mirror and didn't recognize the woman looking back at me. _What have I done? _I asked the puffy-faced woman in the mirror. I may have Greg's child, but I don't know if I have Greg. Tears began to well in my eyes again. I swiped at them angrily with the back of my hand and went into the dining area to begin cleaning up. I could certainly use the distraction.

I cleared the table, then got a small dishpan with warm soapy water to clean up the splattered mess on the floor. As I bent over to pick up the broken plate, the next cramp hit me hard enough to elicit a loud gasp from my now trembling lips.

_OK, don't panic. _I tried talking myself from the edge of hysteria. I grabbed the cordless phone off the coffee table and dialed Greg's cell phone again. It went to voice mail. I tried again. Again, it went to voice mail.

I tried to steady my voice as I left him a message, so as not to panic him. "Greg, it's Jillian _please_ come home right now. It's urgent!" I then pressed Star 2 and the phone speed dialed James.

"James," I panted, "It's Jilllian. Is Greg with you?"

Across town a sleepy James Wilson was suddenly sitting straight up in bed, scrubbing his hand over his face and running it through his mop of brown hair.

"No, he's not here. Jillian...what's wrong? You sound strange. Are you OK?"

"Oh, James...we had an awful fight and he left several hours ago and he won't answer my calls and I really need him right now. I'm cramping and I-I think I might be losing our b-baby," I choked out the last word.

"Baby?!" James shouted as he jumped out of bed. I heard the click as he put me on speaker phone. I could hear him running around the apartment as he got dressed, no doubt in record time.

"Jillian, just try to stay calm. Are you bleeding or just cramping?

"I don't feel any wetness and I-I'm too afraid to check! Please hurry, James. I don't think I can go through this again! I just can't," I began to cry in earnest.

"I'll find him Jill," Wilson said soothingly. "Just hang on. Everything's going to be fine! I'll be there in just a few minutes, okay?"

"Thanks, James!" With that, I hung up the phone and waited to be rescued by James Wilson, everyone's favorite knight errant. Sadly, I wondered where Greg was. Like a petulant child, I wanted _my_ knight in shining armor to come to my rescue.

***************

House looked at his cell phone and saw his home number pop up. He knew it was Jillian calling, but he just couldn't bring himself to talk to her right now. He was still too damn angry with her for messing up their lives to "make nice." _Let her sweat a while longer_, he thought to himself.

"Hey, Fred, let me have another," House snapped his fingers at the older man behind the bar. Fred had become very familiar over the years with the obnoxious, demanding doctor from PPTH.

"I don't think so, doc. It's getting late. Why don't you let me call you a cab?"

"Why would I let you call me a cab? I'm not a cab." House slurred slightly, laughing at his own lame joke.

"I don't know what the problem is, doc, but sitting here soaking it in Bourbon is not the answer."

"But it's a good start," House said, raising his last drink in a mock salute to the bartender, before taking a long pull.

House put the drink back down on the bar, sloshing the small amount of amber liquid that now remained in the bottom of the thick-bottomed hi ball glass. He had been in the bar for hours and had had plenty of time to replay the evening's disastrous events over and over in his head. He wasn't proud of his behavior, but he wasn't crazy about Jillian's either.

_What the hell am I going to do with a baby at my age? I'm going to look like the kid's grandfather for chrissakes! What if Jilly leaves me because I'm a shitty excuse for a dad? How could this have happened?! Why did I tell her I didn't want a baby with her? I know what she's been through in the past! How could I be so stupid? _House thought to himself as he stared into his Bourbon hoping the answers would somehow appear among the slowly melting ice cubes.

The sound of his vibrating cell phone laying on top of the bar, brought him back to reality. The combination of alcohol and his conflicting thoughts were beginning to do a number on his head.

Squinting a little to see the readout, he saw that it was Wilson calling. _Ah, calling in the big guns _he thought to himself. _Oh well, hopefully, she's come to her senses. Four hours of suffering should be enough for her, and I can use Dial-a-Wilson to save me some cab fare._

"House?" Wilson asked cautiously. Even through the alcohol haze, Wilson's calm but strangely urgent tone immediately put House on alert, sending the hairs on the back of his neck to standing at full attention.

"What do you want, Wilson? Did Jillian call you to come fetch me? Well, you can just tell her that I'll come home when I'm damn..."

"House," Wilson interrupted. "I need you to meet me at the L & D entrance at work. I'm taking Jillian in to be checked out. She thinks she might be having a miscarriage."

He could hear the unanswered question in Wilson's voice, but knew he would have to deal with Wilson's hurt feelings at a later time.

House sobered up faster than he ever had in his life; the alcohol in his system suddenly feeling like ice water in his veins. The first three Bourbons on the rocks had been knocked back by a man on a mission to get drunk, but fast. The last two he had simply nursed as he tried to cope with the fallout from what had happened more than four hours earlier, the time before his world got turned upside down by Jillian's news.

*************

As we sped through the streets of Princeton, I watched Wilson trying to keep his voice calm, so as not to upset me, as he delivered the details of my symptoms, where to meet us and our ETA. A small whimper escaped my lips at that moment as another cramp hit me. I bravely rode out the pain as I watched Wilson nod occasionally as he continued to listen to whatever Greg was telling him on the other end of the line.

Wilson then handed me the phone. "He wants to talk to you."

After listening to what Greg had to say, I just lost it. My tears began to fall even faster and Wilson reached across and squeezed my hand in an attempt to comfort me as he held the steering wheel in a death grip.

I was embarrassed that Wilson had to see me blubbering like some wimpy little teenage girl. He had only been privy to the strong, take-no-shit-from-House version of me, but at the moment I was left completely defenseless by Greg's words.

As the sight of PPTH loomed before me, I squared my shoulders and dried my tears. In spite of the cramping I was still experiencing, I was suddenly feeling strong again and prepared to face the fight of my life.

**tbc**


	4. Chapter 4

**Over the Moon - Chapter 4 **

I was met at the L&D entrance by a pretty young nurse, who looked way overdue for some much-needed sleep, and a tall male orderly that reminded me of a young Will Smith. James, bless his heart, uncharacteristically barked orders to the shocked pair that resulted in them getting me admitted with lightening speed.

Time went by in a blur as I was wheeled into an exam room, stripped, placed in a gown and had my feet up in stirrups before I could fully grasp what was going on. I looked around for James, but figured he must have been discreetly hiding in the hallway, figuring out how he was going to apologize to the nurse and the orderly.

A pretty woman with olive skin and long, dark hair swept into the room and calmly introduced herself as Dr. Sonja Marquez, the OB resident on call.

She looked at my chart for a minute and then asked in a slightly puzzled voice, "Ms. Walters..."

"Please call me Jillian," I interrupted, giving her a weak smile.

"OK, Jillian. You say you're 6 weeks pregnant, but I don't see anything in your records confirming this. Has your doctor performed a pregnancy test, yet?"

"No, I just found out myself. I took one of those home pregnancy tests early yesterday morning. With my history of miscarriages, I was almost too afraid to hope," I said almost in a whisper, a little embarrassed at my confession to this strange doctor. Apparently, she thought nothing of my answer as she continued to ask me questions.

" Is the pain you're experiencing sharp or dull?"

"Mostly dull, but I did have two really sharp pains. One before I left the apartment and the other in the car on the way here." She wrote this down in my file as she asked the next question.

"About what time did the cramping start?"

"Around 1:15 a.m., so not that long ago." I honestly had no idea what time it was.

She kept reading, writing notes and asking me questions. Many I had already answered when I had been admitted. Many I had answered what seemed like a million times before during my previous miscarriages. While the questions were irritating, I also knew they were necessary.

The longer she went on, the more nervous I became. I was still having little cramps, though they weren't nearly as painful as they had been when I first arrived.

Suddenly, as brave as I thought I was feeling when I got to the hospital, I was now feeling terribly sorry for myself. I was going to be 40 in a few months, I'm not exactly a spring chicken, and regardless of the outcome, I would always feel like I had lied to the man I loved, like I had somehow tricked him into having a baby against his will. I felt like my soul was being ripped open and my emotions were going to spill all over the bright white linoleum of Exam Room 1.

The doctor looked at my tear-filled eyes with the slightest bit of sympathy. Very un-doctor-like Greg would think. He'd immediately call her a Cameron and mock her compassion, but I greatly appreciated it at the moment.

"We're definitely going to keep you overnight, but based on what we find, we may have to keep you a little longer...or not," she tried to reassure me when she saw the panic in my eyes. Right now I'm going to do some blood work, a pelvic and then an ultrasound exam. We'll discuss treatment once we know more," she said as she snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

"Why don't you scoot down just a little more for me and we'll take a look at what's going on," while we wait for your tests to come back. Marquez had heard that Jillian was brought in by Dr. Wilson, himself, so she knew that the lab would see to it that Jillian's tests were a priority.

Following the pelvic, she squirted the cool gel on my lower abdomen and rubbed gently in circles with the wand until an image became clear on the screen. Tears immediately formed in my eyes as I saw the little peanut on the screen...and heard a faint heartbeat. It wasn't a tumor or a mass or some other crazy medical anomaly that I was expecting. It was a baby. My baby. Our baby.

"Well, you're definitely pregnant," she said with a smile. "Congratulations! Now, let's see if we can help keep you that way."

I heard a commotion outside the exam room and then a loud bang as the door swung open. I almost jumped off the table, which would have been quite a feat considering I was laying flat at this point, my feet no longer in the stirrups. I heard Greg before I could actually see him, since I was facing away from the door.

"Baby Daddy coming through," Greg announced to a shocked Dr. Marquez.

I could see that she recognized her lunatic of a hospital colleague. It just took her a second to make the connection that I was the woman now carrying the madman's child. I smiled sheepishly, almost trying to apologize for Greg's behavior, though I knew it was a worthless gesture.

"So, what's the word, Marquez? Am I a Baby Daddy or not?"

Before Dr. Marquez could answer, I blurted out, "Greg, we're pregnant!"

"Well, I'm not feeling very pregnant, but if you're happy..."

I waited patiently for him to continue, but what I got instead was a soft, tender kiss that tasted of Bourbon and apologies.

Marquez cleared her throat and we both smiled, a little embarrassed at our little PDA.

"So what's with the cramping, Marquez?"

"Everything looks fine, in spite of the cramping. Probably just stress, but with her history, I'd like to keep her for a couple of days and start her on an aspirin/heparin cocktail to help with her clotting problems, so we can hopefully carry this baby to term."

"We?" Greg asked mockingly, simply unable to stop himself. "I gave him the "behave yourself"death stare and he cleared his throat and stood straight as he listened to the younger doctor.

"I mean, I believe this would be the best course of action to help Ms. Walters carry your baby safely to term."

"Aspirin and heparin," he repeated to himself. "Riiight...from the Scotland and New Zealand studies. Good call, Marquez. I hear the results are very promising."

"They are." Marquez beamed inwardly, actually amazed that she had just gotten a metaphorical pat on the head from the great Dr. Gregory House. Sure, he was an ass, but a brilliant one, nonetheless, making his seldom-given praise more valuable than gold.

"It should help her over the next seven months and increase her odds of carrying to full-term. Of course, she'll have to have the heparin shot every day of the pregnancy, but since the heparin doesn't cross the placenta, their's no risk to the baby."

_Pregnant woman in the room, _I thought to myself with a smile as they continued to rattle off medical jargon while completely ignoring me. Greg again nodded his approval. And me, I was willing to do anything, if it meant that I could carry this baby to term. If she had told me I'd have to do a daily walk through hot coals while juggling chainsaws, I would have agreed to it.

Dr. Marquez excused herself from the room, giving Greg and I a moment to ourselves.

"Jilly," he said, first looking down at the bright white linoleum before looking up into my eyes. "I'm...I'm..." he began with a deep breath.

"Shhhh. No apologies," I said shaking my head. "Do you remember what you told me on the phone, when James was breaking all traffic laws to get me here?"

"Yes," he said as he rolled his eyes, hating to be reminded that he had actually said the words, but smiling slightly as he repeated them back to me like a bad school boy confessing his misdeeds. "I told you that 'I loved you and that in spite of my crappy childhood, and still questionable adulthood, having a baby with you would make me the happiest man in the world,' and so help me Jillian, if you ever repeat this to anyone, especially the kid, I'll..." I shut him up with another long, deep kiss.

As we broke the kiss, Greg and I both turned and stared in amazement at the image on the ultrasound monitor. Greg tentatively reached out with his long fingers and touched the little blob on the screen that was our child. His bright blue eyes conveyed a thousand different emotions, the most notable one being love.

"Looks like our little peanut is quite the fighter?" I said to him proudly as fresh tears pricked my eyes.

"Yeah, and I can only hope she has half the fight...and the sense...and the ability to put up with her ass of a father, as her mom. If she does, she'll be just fine."

**tbc**


	5. Chapter 5

**Over the Moon - Epilogue** **- One Year Later **

Cait's soft crying startled me from my brief nap. I am still amazed at how motherhood has somehow given me supersonic hearing.

Thirty minutes earlier I had returned from the grocery, put everything away, picked up my sleeping child, who was resting comfortably on her sleeping father's chest, and put her down in the nursery for her afternoon nap. Seizing the opportunity, I kicked off my flats and threw myself across the bed, fully clothed, for my own desperately needed nap.

I was halfway to the nursery when the crying suddenly stopped. I stood in the hall just outside the nursery, fumbling with the buttons on my blouse, thinking that Cait probably needed feeding, when I heard Greg's voice, low and gentle, talking to our daughter. The squeak of the rocking chair adding a rhythmic tempo to their conversation.

I don't generally make a habit of eavesdropping, but the soft sounds of Caitlin's cooing in response to Greg's direct, yet tender, tones stopped me completely in my tracks and made my heart swell with overwhelming love for my little family.

"You know, Peanut, and don't you dare repeat this to anyone, but Daddy really doesn't know where he would be without you and Mommy. The night Daddy found out you were coming into his life, Daddy was being his usual ss of a self and made mommy cry and almost go far, far away, taking you with her. Oh, and I promise that I will really try hard not to show you that side of me, unless, of course, you bring home some greasy-haired, teenaged head-banger. Then, so help me kid, Daddy's going to have to show you just how much of an ss he can really be."

I heard gurgling from Cait that I could have sworn sounded like,_ "Daddy, you wouldn't?!" _Or, maybe it was more like, _"Dad, if you embarrass me, so help me I'll never speak to you again in life!" _

I smiled and continued to listen in on their little conversation.

"But," Greg continued, "Daddy came to his senses and realized that he loved Mommy very, very much. He knew how much she wanted you, how much _we_ wanted you, so we did everything in our power to ensure that you would complete our family. Mommy took a ridiculous number of shots and vitamins and reduced her work schedule, so you would grow to be the beautiful, strong and healthy young lady you are today. And, Daddy even went so far as to ask Mommy to marry him. Of course, Mommy, stubborn woman that she is, turned me down--twice--before she succumbed to Daddy's charms."

_"Really, dad? Only twice, huh?"_ Cait gurgled. I smiled at how well my daughter knew her father.

I peeped around the door and watched as Greg shifted Cait from his left to his right arm, stroking her wispy brown hair and looking deeply into the big blue eyes that matched his own. Cait was obviously so mesmerized by her father's voice that she was willing to put feeding on hold for a few minutes longer just to hear what he had to say.

"I then let Mommy talk me into buying this big, overpriced house, so you could have a 'proper' upbringing with good schools, a backyard and 'nice neighbors,' Greg continued, barely containing his sarcasm.

I leaned against the wall, suppressing a small giggle, since I could practically hear Greg rolling his eyes at the picture of domesticity that had become his life. Though he would never admit it, Greg loved our new house and spacious backyard; our neighbors, not so much.

_"Thanks for the sacrifice, dad,"_ Cait cooed.

"You're welcome, kid. You know, Daddy never thought he would ever have a family to call his own. I thought I would just die alone, a crotchety old man admired by many, but loved by none." I heard just the slightest hitch in Greg's voice as he bravely voiced his deepest fears to our daughter. My heart clinched at his painful confession. "But you and Mommy convince me everyday that I'm nothing like your opa and that I can be the best father I can be. And you know what Peanut, you truly make me want to be."

I peeped again and saw Greg holding Caitlin up at eye level. They looked so adorable together, staring deeply into one another's eyes. Somehow, I knew this would be the first of many heart-too-heart conversations these two would be sharing over the coming years.

"So, Miss Caitlin Claire House," he said as she started to fuss, no doubt wondering about the lack of food around the joint, "when you're 16 and screaming at your mom and me that you hate your life and you hate us, just remember one thing--we love you very much. Always have, always will, and we will always be your family, whether you like it or not."

_"Thanks, dad! I won't forget. Now, can I eat?"_

THE END


End file.
